Day 7 - Friday 27th

Richard does the inflation, takeoff and flight today. (There should be
four of us in our group, but as we three have absorbed the extra place
costs, we have an unofficial rota). There is an "interesting" moment as
Humbug starts to track backwards towards a water tower. Climbing to 300
feet gets us into the southerly airstream that the others are flying in.
Complimenting him on his takeoff, we advise him to check that the balloon
has not been left in reverse gear next time! This is another magical
flight in part layered mist. Temples and radio masts poke up through the
layers as the sun comes up over the mountains and back- lights the broad
plain that we are crossing, bathing all in a light that gives everything a
golden, dreamlike quality. There is some top cloud cover, so the sun's
heat shouldn't trigger the radiation fog that bothered us yesterday.

There is a huge quantity of rice being grown here; the drying fields form
a pleasing nonlinear pattern as far as the eye can see. Here and there are
dotted small groups of trees in ones and twos that provide shelter from
the sun for the workers. Occasionally there are small bamboo shelters with
simple thatched roofs over platforms raised about three feet from the
ground. We are limited to 1000 feet for this flight, so we climb to
altitude to steer to the right ("right with height") to outrun the
tendrils of radiation fog that are creeping outward.

The famous temple complex at Lamphang Luang is now before us with its
gilded dome glowing in the morning sunshine. Peter and Nigel in Zodiac are
attempting to land in the school yard next to the temple. We see the
children in their blue and white uniforms lined up in classes with their
teachers and their excited chatter comes up to us in the basket as the
wind shifts and dies. Drifting across the temple yard (not respectful -
it's a bit like riding a Harley-Davidson round Westminster Abbey) he is
becalmed like us, over the houses. Faces look up at the two huge visitors.
Every small square and junction is shrouded with power and telephone
wires. We go "upstairs" to seek moving air and slowly move onwards. Zodiac
heads for a large compound, but the wind is fickle and their path curves
away. Not wanting to visit another rice field cuts his options down to
one. There's a fish farm - its huge earth tanks green with floating
vegetation. A small piece of waste ground in one corner might be an
option, but after that the rice fields stretch for miles. Zodiac puts down
in the corner of the tank and Nigel leaps for the bank with the handling
line and makes it safely. It's a close thing, but Peter has superb control
despite the sudden loss of Nigel's weight and they start to pull Zodiac
down on the dirt strip. A cheer and a round of applause from our basket
acknowledges the feat, but now it is our turn. Norman waits, then puts
Humbug into a curved descent to make a standup landing over the upwind
boundary of the wire-fenced compound attempted earlier by Zodiac. Local
families cluster round, respectful, but very interested in Humbug's
construction and equipment. One elder fingers her black and silver panels
and I show him that it is airtight by trying to blow through the cloth. He
tries the same and nods to show that he understands. The Thai are so quick
to pick up new ideas and rarely have to be shown anything new more than
once.

After a chicken and rice lunch we visit the elephant sanctuary at
Lamphang. Against my inclination, Richard tells me that we ought to do
this and I find myself sharing a wooden padded saddle strapped to the back
of an elephant for a half-hour walk. The mahout rides on the neck, steers
with his feet behind the elephant's ears and, although he rarely uses it,
carries a short stick with a metal spike stuck through it. As each animal
starts off it helps itself to a trunkful of water which it sprays along
its flanks and legs, avoiding its passengers by either accident or, as
seems likely, design. We turn in line and walk down the bank into a lake
and begin to wade to the other side. At mid-point, the elephant in front
of us lifts its tail and defecates. Oh well, travel is said to broaden the
mind. It's the sheer quantity involved that involuntarily draws the eye.
Did you know that elephant turds are buoyant? A small, green minefield is
laid before our startled eyes. Engaging four-legged drive, we forge up
the far bank at an impossible angle.

I am wearing a mahout's hat, very cheap and light because I burn easily,
This cost 25 baht from the sanctuary stall, which also sells bunches of
bananas (10 baht) and bundles of sugar cane. These are for feeding the
elephants, each of which gets through up to 250 kilos of vegetation per
day. Perhaps the performance in the lake is now understandable, although
it doesn t explain the continence of all the others.

Along the path the driver of Dawn and Peter's elephant takes her camera
and swings down, leaving no-one qualified as P1 in charge. Dawn implores
him to return, but the driver knows the drill and grins, taking lots of
pictures to remind her of the experience - not, judging from the racket
she's making, that it will be easily forgotten as he doesn't remount for
several hundred metres. We return, rather enthusiastic about elephants and
ask lots of questions. Another elephant has been ticked off for some
misdemeanour and, in a fit of annoyance, applies a little pressure to the
roof of the open structure housing the booking office and stand. There is
a loud bang and a sizeable chunk of asbestos roof showers down, not that
anyone was nearby at the time. It seems that the elephant was aware of
this and that it was a totally calculated gesture of annoyance. We embus
for a trip to a woodcarving village where we admire the wooden artifacts,
gifts and sculptures. They are amazingly life-like and are the sort of
goods that would fetch hundreds in the UK and yet here are yours for very
few baht considering the time and workmanship that have gone into them.

Driving back with our purchases (more retail therapy has been indulged
in), we drowse in airconditioned comfort. Suddenly we stop out in the
fields where twenty or so workers are grouped near a fire. They are
obviously about to have their evening meal and I feel uneasy at our
obvious tourist presence. This is not, I reflect, a chimpanzee's tea party
to be stared at. They welcome us, wave, smile and beckon us to join them.
We gaze at their fire, which is actually a form of oven. A chicken or
piece of beef is skewered on a wooden stick about three feet long. This is
driven into the ground and a large tin cover placed over the meat. A large
quantity of rice stalk is piled up to form a 5 foot high mound over all
and all is then fired. After the fuel has been consumed the oven is
emptied, carved and the contents distributed. Their food is offered to us
to share with them and also their rice wine to drink. It would be a
dreadful slight to refuse hospitality so we partake with a bad conscience
about taking their suppers while it hasn't been many hours since our
noodle break. If someone had confirmed that this had been set up for us I
would have believed them, but no, this was a completely genuine gesture;
total generosity to complete farangs (foreigners). I can't see
that sort of thing happening in rural England to the Shakespeare Tourists,
though. We are sobered by the thought that these people who have so little
and who lead such hard lives in our terms should be so generous to us, who
for them must represent colossal wealth.